


The Curse of Medusa

by maplewoodmoth



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore, Original Work
Genre: Gen, I wanted to write the end of the gods and this is how it all turned out, Mythology - Freeform, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Freeform, and because I'm very Gay and Love Medusa, but i love it nonetheless, that's it that's the story, this is very unoriginal, this was written for 2 reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 09:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplewoodmoth/pseuds/maplewoodmoth
Summary: Poseidon is dying a mortal death, and this is the most terrified he has ever been.Somewhere in the distance, Medusa is hissing with laughter as she pauses in her study from a mountainside, looking at the strata and conglomerates and layers of history that she is far older than.





	The Curse of Medusa

It started out small. 

He can’t move his legs now. A God. wheelchair bound. It baffles the human mortal doctors when he goes to them (he used to go for a laugh- to see the the looks on their faces when they realize that his bones are coral, and his blood samples are just salt water. He’s not laughing at this. Not anymore.)

It’s not like he could go any of the other Gods to help him from his suffering. Those that remain, if whole and left unaffected, have long since fled from Olympus. He can’t go to Apollo for help- he’s too busy being driven mad by the sound of songbirds- of whispers of the damned and the doomed and pleading and cursed that he’s ignored for so long. Burned up from the inside out.

They’re all dying in some way or other. Some in more obvious ways. Athena has been coughing up spiders; clutches hatching under her skin- egg sacks blocking up her lungs as the newly hatched scuttle their ways out of her throat and nose. Dionysus is drying up, and Demeter is turning into her beloved Earth- stretched out and stretched thin like a tarp. Hera is gone, adrift in the wind. There is no hospitality for the Queen of Olympus. Hestia has no memories. She toils, wasting away in the mortal plane. It is a kindness. Or is it? For her, no more burden (she was always the kindest); or for them- so they are no more reminded of their coming demise? (By far, hers is one of the kinder fates). Artemis has become feral (by choice or by force), perhaps in response to the fate of her twin or perhaps in some twisted mirror- both of them present in body, yet broken in mind. She no longer remembers human speech and strikes out against contact.

Is it worse when half of them don’t remember, are already gone-- and the rest of them are forced to watch them all fade agonizingly slow? They are being cursed by their very elements and all those they’ve wronged. And they’ve wronged so many people throughout the millennia.

They go out in many ways. Like the Christian ushers of Death. Like the Egyptian Gods and their proclamations and sabotage and permanent solutions to temporary problems. Like the Norse Gods proclaimed solemn oath of endings. This is no laughing matter- then why can he not stop? They all laugh without malice- because no matter from the inside or out- nor the faith- they are. They persist. They have persisted; they consist. They are all as helpless as their fellow “gods”.  
And Poseidon is paralyzed; drowning from the inside when his lungs finally stop working and succumb to being filled with fluid. He has been blessed with immortality for so long- he remembers when the Titans thundered upon the Earth- it burns to be forced to die in such a slow, agonizing way, the worst of all ways to disappear. To die as if a mortal! That’s what really gets to him. He can’t die with his dignity. He can’t die with it-- only after it’s gone. 

“It’s like you’re being turned to stone” one befuddled and horrified doctor admits, frowning at her clipboard. She adjusts her hijab and drums her fingers and is bemusedly stumped, but she is open. Honest. The best in her field.

He has dreams of snakes with lovely eyes. He sighs, “I know” he says, “I am”. 

Poseidon is dying a mortal death, and this is the most terrified he has ever been.  
Somewhere in the distance, Medusa is hissing with laughter as she pauses in her study from a mountainside, looking at the strata and conglomerates and layers of history that she is far older than.


End file.
